Hook And Tavington Bash Stumpy
by Drummers
Summary: Written in protest, this fic tells the story of how both Hook and Tavington took revenge on Stumpy Gibson for various reasons...


DISCALIMER: I don't own Hook, Tavington or Jason Isaacs (pity) and I have no possession of a 'Stumpy'. Thank heavens.  
  
A/N: This story is specially written for Kedavra at the Unofficially Yours Jason Isaacs Forum. She's an avid Cheese Lover like me, and she's had to wait for ages to see Peter Pan. It had perhaps only been a week in the cinemas where she lives, when it got kicked out by The Passion of the Christ, a film by Mel 'Stumpy' Gibson. Reason enough for the Cheese Lovers Guild to protest against such procedures. That is why I here present to you, fully approved by the Anti-Stumpy's Anti Stumpy Society;  
  
Tavington and Hook Bash Stumpy  
  
Colonel William Tavington was resting quietly in Elysium, when St Peter came up to him with a message.  
  
"You have a visitor, Colonel," St Peter said. Tavington got up and followed the saint to the entrance of the silent garden.  
  
At the gate stood a man whom Tavington had never seen before. He was about as tall as he was, and wore clothes of a strange, long forgotten fashion. His hair was long, dark and curly. He had a moustache and a small beard, and his forget-me-not blue eyes had a piercing gaze. Tavington met the gaze unmoved with his own, near transparent eyes.  
  
"Good day, Colonel," said the stranger, and he took off his large, plumed hat, making a small bow. "I am Captain Jas. Hook. I have a little proposition to make you."  
  
Tavington raised an eyebrow. "Why would I want to accept a proposition from anyone?" he said.  
  
Hook smiled darkly, and leaned over to Tavington, his voice a low whisper. "Do you remember that insolent Benjamin Martin?" he asked.  
  
Tavington raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "Do I? Naturally, my friend," he said, giving the last two words extra emphasis.  
  
"I have been wronged by his second life form, you see," said Hook earnestly. "A creature called Mel Gibson. His film The Passion knocked MY screen indulgence out of the cinemas in Riccione, Italy."  
  
"Scandalous," said Tavington. Then, on second thought, "What's a cinema?"  
  
"A place where you can watch moving pictures," said Hook, brushing Tavington's question away with his left hand. Tavington's face still bore a blank expression. "It is as if you are looking out of a window, only there is no window," clarified Hook. Tavington raised an eyebrow but asked no more.  
  
"What say ye, my mate?" said Hook, making a broad and jovial gesture with his hook, missing Tavington's crotch by inches. "Are you in on this?"  
  
"In on what exactly?" said Tavington, cautiously taking a step backwards.  
  
"We shall haunt this Stumpy person into oblivion, until he gives up and admits we are his superiors!" said Hook, a red glint in his eyes.  
  
"Sounds like a good plan, my comrade," said Tavington appreciative.  
  
The sky over Stumpy Gibson's house was dark and heavy. It was as if the atmosphere was waiting for something to spark and set off a thunder storm.  
  
Stumpy was in his bed, trying to sleep, tossing and turning. He couldn't quite catch sleep; the air was too heavy, and it was as if it was obstructing his lungs.  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud crack of thunder. And another. The sky was alight with the brightest lightning bolts Stumpy had ever seen. Soon, it seemed the night was darker even, and heavy washes of rain wept down on the windows of the house.  
  
Stumpy marvelled at the power of nature for a moment, when suddenly, his room was ablaze. He looked at where the light came from, and he was paralysed in shock.  
  
There, at the foot of his bed, sat two shining figures. They were both large and emitted a great quantity of unearthly light. If the characters' faces hadn't told him otherwise, Stumpy would have thought they were angels.  
  
"Who are you?" he managed to mumble.  
  
The first figure, which looked slightly familiar, said in a loud, carrying voice, "Do you not recognise me, Benjamin Martin?"  
  
Stumpy looked at the stern face, the braided pony tail, the vaguely red uniform and the riding boots. "General Washington?" he tried.  
  
The figure's face seemed more displeased than first. "No, you patriotic imbecile, my name is Colonel William Tavington, of his Majesty's Green Dragoons," he growled. "You killed me during the battle of Cowpens."  
  
Stumpy's face cleared up. "That's right, I remember you!" he said gleefully. "You were the nasty Brit who killed all my children!"  
  
"Not ALL your children," said Tavington. "Pity, though."  
  
"All nice and well," said Hook, taking the lead, "now I must also introduce myself. My name is Captain Hook. Your film The Passion of the Christ wormed itself into a cinema, taking MY cinema debut's place. It is not fair."  
  
"No, it isn't" said Tavington, shooting a dark glance at Stumpy.  
  
"So," resumed Hook, "we have come to haunt you, until you admit we are your superiors."  
  
"You are!" squeaked Stumpy at once.  
  
Hook and Tavington glanced at each other sideways.  
  
"That is not very fair, either, Mr Stumpy," said Hook darkly. "We have not been able to haunt you yet."  
  
"Yet," emphasised Tavington. On his sign, all hell broke loose.  
  
They let bookcases collapse, sending the heavy books all over the floor, they made windows crack and they opened the tap but never closed it, making the bath overflow.  
  
Hook took an especially large copy of the Bible, and hurtled it at Stumpy's head, who ducked away just in time. The Bible smacked into the wall over Stumpy's head and fell onto the bed with a heavy thud.  
  
Tavington found a dog, and put its food on its head, making it chase its tail. He made a bowl of goldfish swim in the bathtub and threw some bread in as well. He found a rubber duck and put it in the bathtub with the fish, muttering, "Look, ducky, food!"  
  
Hook and Tavington took their swords and slashed at curtains and couches. Their work was thorough and effective, and within an hour, the interior was totally destructed; a hurricane couldn't have done a better job.  
  
"Do you surrender?" growled Hook, pointing his sword at Stumpy.  
  
"I surrender!" blubbered Stumpy, in tears.  
  
"Idiot," muttered Tavington under his breath, rolling his eyes.  
  
"You ARE my superiors!" squirmed Stumpy under Hook's gaze. "Even I couldn't have demolished an interior better!"  
  
"Very well," said Hook, satisfied, tucking his sword away. "But never again, ye hear me?"  
  
Stumpy nodded numbly.  
  
"Good," said Tavington. With a small pop, they disappeared simultaneously, leaving a small whiff of radiating smoke, which evaporated within seconds.  
  
Stumpy sat up straight in his bed, bathing in sweat. The storm outside raged on.  
  
~*~THE END~*~ 


End file.
